A young woman two back in the line from me stepped out in the rain with her hand raised. "I have to get to Crossdurgan," she called. She was English. "Can you take me there?"

The man was wise enough to the madness of tourists to hide his satisfaction. "Crossdurran is it?" he said, setting her straight on the name. And with something of a bow, as he reached to pick up her little suitcase, "Well get there you shall, dear heart." He pointed to his car.

"What will it cost me?" she asked. "Can we settle the price before we leave?"

He furrowed his brow, as though deep calculations were in swing. "Well, now," he said, "that’d have to be eleven or twelve pound easy. English pounds."

I stepped up then. "It’s a coincidence," I told her, "but I’m heading for the very same place." She wasn’t much more than a girl, determined but scared. "You ride up front," I said, "and we’ll share the cost."

"I’d have to charge another five pound," the man said. "Wear and tear on the vehicle."

"We’ll say fourteen pound, then," I said. "You climb in the front, miss."

The boyoh didn’t like that. I set my bag in the trunk beside hers.

"Crossdurghan," I sang out. And of course, young Evans appeared from the ruck, asking to come on board, and an-other fellow too, about sixty, with nasty teeth and the style of a failed barrister.

The driver started in again on the fare as they got seated, but I pressed his arm and steered him back round to the trunk. "Now listen, you bollocks," I said, "there’ll be sixteen quid for this trip and there’s the whole of it." "I can refuse to carry more than one fare," he said. "But that’s the thing you won’t do," I told him. "If you keep your eyes straight, there may be a tip in it for you."

Evans and the girl were seated and waiting, but the other stood hovering at the car door. "I prefer to sit by the window," he said, "if you’ve no objection." A college voice, and eyes that had long ago worn out their charm. A brandy gloss, too, on his nose and cheeks. A maggot.

"I’m easy," I said, and climbed into the back seat. I could see the girl’s eyes in the driver’s mirror. Evans was looking at me. "I saw you, didn’t I?" he said, "last week at the vernis-sage."

I felt the Maggot stiffen beside me.

"You did," I said, "but I’m not in competition. I’ve other fish to fry." His innocent face looked perplexed.

The driver said not a word all the way out of town, but he couldn’t keep faith with his sulk, it wasn’t his nature. By the time we were past the Cathedral and away on the Corrib road, he was teasing and jesting and drawing the girl out be-side him. About England, where he’d spent time himself, and the Kilburn Road and the characters. He played his own character to the hilt, there were smiles all round. I could see his eyes too in the mirror. I was well placed to watch.

When he asked us at large what our business was, though, there was frost in the air. It was Evans who opened up. He’d nothing to hide.

"I suppose you could say I’m engaged in a man hunt," he said, and gave a little laugh, his scholar’s tones at odds with his hillfarmer’s face. "A remarkable man, actually, a painter. A forgotten man whose time, it would seem, has come." You could picture him up in a lecture hall.

The girl’s eyes widened. She caught me watching in the mirror. And the Maggot beside me, his hands were clenched in his lap, his eyes flicked away from mine.